Marie Sexton - Promises

“Why not, Matt? Why shouldn’t I be with somebody else?”

“Do you love him?”

That surprised me, but I didn’t answer him. Instead I asked, “Do you love Cherie?”

“No.”

A flat, honest answer. I was trying to hang on to my anger, because I knew if it left, I would only feel dirty and depressed. “No. I don’t love Cole. You know that.” I looked over at him. “If I had things my way, it would have been you in my bed last night. Last night and every night. But you have made it quite clear that you want nothing to do with me.”

He was staring at the wall about a foot above my head, and I knew he was struggling.

He was angry and hurt and embarrassed, and I was pretty sure he was at least a little bit jealous too.

“I love only you. But if you expect me to apologize for going on with my life after you walked out of it without a backward glance, you can go to hell.”

He stood there another minute, still not looking at me. Finally, he said, “I think I should go.”

“I think you should too.”

THE next evening, he was back. I heard him knock, and when I opened door, he was there. He was leaning against the doorframe with a six pack in one hand. He looked haggard, and embarrassed, and scared to death.

“You look like hell.”

A hint of smile flickered on his face and was gone.

“Are you alone?” I was glad to hear that there was no judgment in his voice. He was simply trying to let me establish a boundary if I wanted to.

“I am.”

He sighed and then said softly, “Can we try this again, please? Last time didn’t really go the way I planned.”

And any anger or resentment I still had over those last unfortunate visits vanished. I was just glad he had come back. “Of course.”

“I heard about the baby,” he told me as he came in. “I guess you’re Uncle Jarhead now?”

I laughed, probably louder than I should have.

He went in the kitchen to put the beer away, came back out with two open ones and handed one to me. And then there was a moment when we both just stood there.

For my part, I couldn’t get enough of looking at him, and it was all I could do not to throw my arms around him and hug him. It wasn’t a romantic urge. Sure, I was crazy about him, but we hadn’t been lovers. We had been friends. And it was losing that which had hurt the most. Just having him walk back through my door—without the thunder clouds raging in his eyes, like last time—made me feel like I could breathe for the first time in weeks.

For his part, he still looked scared out of his wits, and he was looking everywhere but at me. I think he was waiting for me to say something or to yell at him, but he finally glanced at me, and I was still just standing there grinning at him like a damn fool. His eyebrows went up a little in surprise, and I managed to say, “It’s really good to see you.”

He looked relieved and clapped me on the back so hard that I staggered a little bit. “Let’s go sit down.”

So we sat down in our usual spots, side by side on the couch like we had a million times before. It felt so familiar. He leaned back with a sigh and sat there with his head back and his eyes closed. I could tell he was still wound up tight, but I could also see that he was glad to be here.

“So how did you hear about the baby?”

He sat up and started fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle—another gesture that was achingly familiar. “Cherie told me.”

I felt jealousy, hot and angry in my chest, and tried to force it down. But my voice was sharper than I intended when I asked, “How is Cherie?”

“How is she?” He made an angry laugh. “Christ, Jared, she’s awful. She’s boring. She wears too much perfume. She hates being outside and hates the mountains. She babbles through the football games. She doesn’t even know what a first down is. And she only talks about two things: how much she hates her job and how much she hates her piece of shit exhusband.”

“Um….” I was fighting to keep the smile off of my face.

He was quiet for a minute but then said, “The worst part is I knew all of that going into it.” He glanced over at me. “Aren’t you going to tell me what a fucking idiot I am?”

“Would that make you feel better?”

He laughed without much humor and went back to picking at the label. “These last few weeks have been miserable.”

That hit me. I was quiet for a minute, but then I managed to say quietly, “They’ve been miserable for me too.”

“I’ve missed you.” It was barely a whisper. But when I started to reach across to him, he said, “Don’t.”

I pulled back, feeling stricken.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed and leaned back again. “I just… I’m not ready for that yet. I just need—” He stopped, bit his lower lip, and stared at the ceiling. “I know I have no right to ask you for anything, but can I just stay here for a bit? I just….” He took a shaking breath, “I just want to be here. Please?”

“Anything.”

So I turned on the TV, and we nursed our beers. We mostly talked football and easily fell back into our old banter—a little more awkward than before, but it still felt great. And I watched him slowly relax, layers of tension and sadness falling away, and he even smiled once, if only for a second. Eventually, he leaned back, and within minutes, he was asleep.

When I got up in the morning, he was gone.

THE next day, Ringo came into the back of the shop to get me.

“Jared, Mrs. Rochester is here to see you.” I knew by his voice he was concerned about it.

It took me a minute to place the name. “You mean, Alice Rochester?”

“I don’t know her first name.”

“The high school principal?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.” After the incident with the police, all but two of my students had returned with permission slips. But it seemed that wasn’t enough. Some parent had obviously called the school to complain. “Tell her I’ll be right out.” And then I spent a few seconds composing myself, getting ready for what I was sure was going to be an ugly confrontation.

Mrs. Rochester was in her forties. She was in good shape and had on a navy blue skirt and matching jacket. “Mr. Thomas!” She was smiling when she shook my hand. She had teeth so white and perfect she could have been in toothpaste commercials. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met before.”

“Call me Jared.”

“Jared. You can call me Alice.” She was still smiling. “You may not realize what a buzz you’ve created at our school.”

I was annoyed at her cheerfulness but said, “I’m really sorry about that. I was just trying to help.”

She looked a little confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“You’re talking about the tutoring, right?”

“Of course. I know this is unexpected, but I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to meet with me and a couple of the teachers, just for a few minutes?”

“Shit.” Had I said that out loud?

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” I took a deep breath and made an effort to smile. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll come if you think it’s important.”

“Oh good,” she said with obvious relief. The toothpaste smile was back. “This close to Thanksgiving is crazy for everybody. How about the first Monday in December? Could you come to the school at three thirty?”

“Sure.”

When she was gone, Ringo asked, “What was that all about?”

“That was probably the end of our tutoring sessions.”

TWO nights later, Matt was pounding on my front door hard enough to rattle the hinges.

“I broke up with Cherie,” he said as soon as he walked in.

“Oh.” I hoped the joy those words awoke in me wasn’t too evident in my voice. “Why?”

He glanced sideways at me, and there was anger in his eyes.

“Don’t! Don’t do that. You know why.”

“Matt—”

“No!”

I went silent, my heart in my throat. He was pacing back and forth, looking angrier with every pass. I was pretty sure anything I said would be the wrong thing, so I just waited. Suddenly he turned and drove his fist into the wall.

“Feel better now?” I asked.

“No.” He leaned against the wall with his head in his hands. There was blood on the paint, and the drywall was going to need to be patched.

Finally he spoke. “I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.” It sounded like he might break into tears at any moment. “I’m so fucking tired. And I’m so confused. Part of me wants to kiss you, and part of me wants to just beat the hell out of you.”

I have to admit I was a little bit alarmed by that. “Do I get a vote? Because I definitely prefer one over the other.” He didn’t laugh.

“I wish I could stop thinking about you. I wish I didn’t miss you so much.”

“I miss you, too, Matt,” I said honestly. “I’d give anything for us to just be friends again.”

He didn’t answer for a moment but then said without looking at me, “You could be happy with just being friends?”

“It wouldn’t be my first choice, but yes, if that’s what you want.” It was the truth. Better that than to be alone again.

Another short silence, and then, quietly, he said, “I don’t know if I can do it, Jared. I wish I could. But I don’t think I can go back to that.” He took a deep, shaking breath and finally looked at me. “I miss you so much, but I wish I didn’t want you the way I do.”

“Why do you have to fight it, Matt? Why can’t you just accept that you’re as attracted to me as I am to you?” It was the wrong thing to say.

He grabbed my arms and slammed me against the wall. “You think it’s so easy! I’ve spent my whole life denying these feelings. I don’t know if I can accept them now. I don’t know if I want to accept them!” His face was only a foot away from mine. The look in his eyes was torture. It was pain, and fear, and loathing, and desire, all fighting for dominance. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t bear to see it.